


Obey

by deferney



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, names kink, yay sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deferney/pseuds/deferney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unsure emerald eyes glance up into bright blue ones. Louis looks at him pointedly, “It’s not great sex, then.”</p><p>Harry almost jumps to reassure the other, “No! No, it is amazing! I love sex!”</p><p>Aware of how stupid he sounds, he then places his face in his hands, groaning loudly at Louis’ equally loud laughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obey

**Obey**  
  
It was all an accident, honestly.  
  
It started as an experiment—what the hell were the fans always on about this ‘Larry’ thing anyway—to see if the spark was just in the eyes of delusional fangirls. They swore it was.  
  
But then it happened again.  
  
And again.  
  
After that they just stopped questioning the constant desire to throw one another against a wall and fuck until the world stopped. They just did it.  
  
So, basically, they never talked about it.  
  
Which is where Harry’s problem has come into play. Maybe if they talked about it, this talk wouldn’t be as awkward—maybe there would be actual talking instead of Louis playing with his phone, cross legged on their couch in a pair of grey sweatpants and a white jumper, while Harry stares down at his hands.  
  
God, he has huge hands.  
  
How is he just noticing this?   
  
“Alright so what’s going on up there?” The elder finally questions, motioning with an index finger towards Harry’s forehead.  
  
This is weird.  
  
How is he supposed to say this?  
  
“We fuck,” Harry blurts out.  
  
Louis bursts, laughing so loudly Harry jumps, awkwardly laughing himself as he watches his best friend and sort of lover clutch his stomach, eyes squeezed tight. After a few moments, he contains himself, and, with a few giggles escaping pink lips, says, “Yeah, Styles, we do.”  
  
When the curly haired teenager doesn’t say more, Louis becomes a bit more serious, leaning towards him with a suspicious look. “What of it?”  
  
“And it’s pretty good sex right?” He questions, unsure. Louis has never complained, but then again, this is the first time they’ve openly spoken of their risqué sexual escapades.  
  
An endearing smile flits across Louis’ face. “It’s great sex, babe.”  
  
With that, Harry stops, and turns back to the television, chickening out. There’s no more to say, then. Louis satisfied and Harry…Harry’s happy. That’s all either needs. Louis, however, won’t allow it. He sighs, stretches out, back against the arm of the opposite end of the couch, sock-clad feet resting in Harry’s lap, halting his bouncing knee.  
  
Unsure emerald eyes glance up into bright blue ones. Louis looks at him pointedly, “It’s not great sex, then.”  
  
Harry almost jumps to reassure the other, “No! No, it is amazing! I love sex!”  
  
Aware of how stupid he sounds, he then places his face in his hands, groaning loudly at Louis’ equally loud laughter.   
  
“Out with it!” Louis pulls in his feet a bit, tapping them against Harry’s thigh, waiting.  
  
“You know how…” Harry trails off, wringing his fingers as he tries to think of a less perverse way of stating what he wants to express. “How people have…uhm…fetishes?”  
  
Louis’ eyebrows raise, “I’m not fucking you in a dress, love, sorry.”  
  
He almost gives up right there, just throws all his obscene desires in a jar and throws the jar in a closet and locks said closet, and then loses the key to the closet door. But there’s something about the look in his best friend’s eyes that says, “We can work something out if you want, love, I promise.”  
  
Because Louis’ Louis and he doesn’t judge. Well, he does. But not Harry. Well, he does. But he accepts Harry even if he does judge him.  
  
“It’s not that extreme,” he promises. He leans forward, elbows on knees, biting his thumb nail. With intent eyes on an advert for feminine products, he takes a deep breath, and says, “Call me a slut.”  
  
Louis quick, dancing toes across his leg pause. Harry’s unsure eyes never leave the television screen. It is three minutes, Harry’s ears count 180 ticks from their clock, when he finally works up the nerve to look over at Louis.  
  
Intense blue,  _that_  kind of blue, eyes are tracing over the contours of Harry’s face with gentle, sure caresses. His voice is softer, but stronger and rougher in the kind of way that sends shivers down Harry’s spine. “Yeah?”  
  
He swallows a lump. “Yeah.”

Now the older rises up to his knees, much closer to Harry than before. With such little reaction, Harry ducks his head now, staring at his bare feet.  
  
“What else?”  
  
Brown curls swing wildly as Harry’s head jerks up, looking at Louis with surprise. He swallows again, louder. “I don’t…I uhm…I don’t—I’ve never—”  
  
As usual, their brains, always on the same wavelength, give Louis the advantage of knowing Harry’s next words—thus leading to his next question. “So you only know for sure that, in those dreams you have about me, you really like it when I call you a slut, hmm?”  
  
A strangled whimper escapes Harry’s throat at the words, and he chokes out, “Yeah.”  
  
Sure hands push Harry’s shoulders back, until he’s laying underneath Louis, legs spread to fit the elder, hands clenching and unclenching the fabric of the couch beneath him, staring up at the object of his constant sexual frustration.  
  
Louis plays at his lips; just barely bringing their open mouths together with teasing flicks of his tongue along the younger’s full, pink lips. This time, Harry does whimper, willing himself not to move for the elder, wondering how Louis is going to react to the information he’s just been given.  
  
He rests in Harry’s neck, nipping several times before, quietly in Harry’s ear, just before he nips at his earlobe, stating, “Are you a good slut or a bad one?”  
  
Oh  _God_  that was not what he expected to be asked, and the thought of having to answer has his hips arching off the couch in hopes of some friction. He receives none.  
  
Ever impatient, Louis sucks harshly at skin noticeably paler than his own, just above the collarbone, “Answer me, Harold.”  
  
“A filthy one,” he chokes out in a desperate, rough whisper. “I’m a filthy one.”  
  
He feels Louis smirk against his skin.  
  
“Mhm,” Louis says, hands reaching under Harry’s shirt to feel the pleasantly contracting muscles of a harshly breathing boy. “You’re a very filthy slut, aren’t you?”  
  
“Ye—Yes,” Harry chokes out, eyes squeezing shut because just the words are enough to make him want to come, repeatedly, everywhere, constantly.  
  
When did he become such a horndog?  
  
“That’s right,” Louis concedes in an amusingly bright tone. “You’re a filthy cock slut.”  
  
And what started off as slow and teasing, in 0.03 seconds, becomes quick and harsh and sweaty with just those few words.  
  
Louis rips Harry’s shirt off, working his way down the perfect muscles, biting and nibbling his way down.  
  
“You’re such a good whore,” Louis says, “being so still for me.”  
  
And he knows he’s done the right thing because, at the unbecoming term, Harry sucks his lip between his teeth, biting harshly.  
  
“You know I don’t like my sluts to move when I play with them, huh?” Louis asks rhetorically, shimming Harry’s sweatpants down his legs.  
  
“You’ve always been such a good pet,” and it seems Harry  _really_  likes that one, making Louis smile.  
  
 _Of course Harry has a fetish for this_ , Louis thinks. Could it really have taken him this long to see that?  
  
“My own little toy,” he murmurs, fingertips flitting around the younger’s erection, small flicks teasing the sensitive, flush flesh.  
  
“Mmm,” Harry agrees wholeheartedly.  
  
“What a perverted boy,” Louis teases in his ear, quickening his pace, “wanting to be called such filthy things. What a sick little fuck you are, love, wanting to be my whore.”  
  
When he doesn’t get the reaction he wants, his movements become jerkier, harsher, “Is that what you want, Harry? To be my whore?”  
  
“Yes, yes,” Harry says quietly, bringing his hand to his mouth, biting his thumb to hold in his noises.  
  
“Can I use you whenever I want?” He whispers in his ear. At this, Harry’s hips jerk up uncontrollably, and Louis can’t help but chuckle.  
  
“So easily manipulated, my little toy,” he hums. “I never knew words would affect you so much.”  
  
Louis' brain begins to work, and suddenly an idea pops into his head. “Up, up, up!”  
  
He pulls Harry off the couch, making sure Harry’s fully naked, and that he’s grabbed the lube, before bringing him to the hall. He takes Harry’s hands, places them on an empty space of wall. “You’re not allowed to move those, whore.”

Based off of the way Styles leans his forehead against the wall, he knows his command will be obeyed.  
  
He spreads his legs, ripping off his own shirt. Louis likes the way Harry sucks in a breath when he rests his chest to his back. “Do you know what happens when you become my slut?”  
  
“What—,” at the raspy, broken sound of his voice, Harry clears his throat and tries again. “What happens?”  
  
“I get to use you anywhere.” Louis whispers. “Just imagine it. In the van, in the dressing room. Ha—I could use you right in front of the boys if I wanted, couldn’t I? And you would love it. Because you love my cock in your mouth and in your ass and you just love it any way you can have it, huh?”  
  
The vigorous nod almost makes Louis laugh again, but he contains himself. “Of course,” he says. “Because you’re my whore, aren’t you? My cock slut.”  
  
While speaking, he’d been coating a generous amount of lubrication to his fingers, and just as Harry opens his mouth to answer, Louis pushes in one sure, firm finger, and Harry cries out. “Oh, _fuck_!”  
  
He stretches the younger, whispering in his ear about what a good slut he is, what a good toy he’s been and if he continues to be this good he’ll get to come very soon because good sluts come hard and well. By the time he’s added his third finger, Louis has turned the normally composed younger into a blubbering, begging mess, cock untouched and leaking precum.  
  
Louis’ hand slips to one of Harry’s resting against the wall, bringing it down to his ass. He pushes Harry’s own fingers into his hole as his own slip out.  
  
“Fuck yourself,” he commands, and the whimpering submissive does just that.  
  
Louis takes his time slipping out of his sweatpants, folding them neatly, even walking back to the couch to stack all of their clothes neatly on it, enjoying the sounds of skin gently slapping against skin, Harry keening loudly, but obviously trying to contain his whines.  
  
When he walks back, he slaps away Harry’s hand, enjoying how the younger instinctively knows to rest that hand back on the wall.  
  
He lines up his hard, begging dick to Harry’s stretched hole, teasingly it. Just before he pushes in, he smirks as he whispers, “You can’t come until I think you’re a real slut, Styles.”  
  
Harry’s ass flush to Louis’ hips, they both groan at the familiar yet uncommonly intense meeting of their flesh. Louis pounds into him, both of them shaking with the effort to keep standing, groaning and whining (in Harry’s case) as release slowly becomes accessible.  
  
“Tell me how much of a whore you are,” Louis commands roughly.  
  
Shamelessly, Harry cries into the wall, “I love your cock, Lou. I love how big it is and how it tastes and I love when you come all over me and I get to lick the precum from the head and I like how it drives into my ass so good and so hard and I like the way you just fill me up and it should be gross to feel your cum drip from me but  _God_ I love your cum and your cock and— _ah_!”  
  
Louis’ hand, wrapped tightly around Harry’s dark, needy cock, jerks him in harsh, quick movements as his own become quite jerky, nearing release. “Come, whore.”  
  
Three strokes later, just when Louis thinks his pride will be shot because he can’t come before Harry, the younger obeys his command, and long white streams of sticky fluid splat against the wall. His hands curl, nails scratching the wall as limp cries escape him as Louis continues to jerk into him.  
  
The movements are becoming increasing sporadic, and now Harry leans back into Louis’ chest, whispering, begging, in his ear for Louis’ cum in his ass because it’s so warm and feels so good in his ass and maybe later he’ll blow him because he wants to taste him and be his cumslut too and—  
  
“Oh, shit,  _Harry_ , oh God,” Louis groans as he comes, smiling into Harry’s neck when the younger sighs pleasantly and keens high at the feeling. He pulls out, and Harry turns to rest his shoulders against the wall, careful to avoid the mess he made against the wall.

Wobbly hands grip at one another, before foreheads rest against each other and eyes close. Long, shaky breaths mingle together.  
  
Louis laughs, “It took you that long? For us to experience this? What else are you hiding in that little perverted brain of yours?”  
  
Harry blushes, wrapping his arms around Louis waist and burying his face in his neck, “Shut up, Tomlinson.”

**_End._ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill, yay.  
> Love all, give kudos, leave a comment, hug a tree~!  
> -Def


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